


What's Present is Past

by Chamomile



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 16:26:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16178816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chamomile/pseuds/Chamomile
Summary: After the most recent Eorzean Alliance meeting ends in unforeseen disaster, Kan-E takes a moment to reflect on past mistakes in the company of a friend.[Post-4.4 MSQ spoilers, with slight allusions to the 1.0 Grand Company quests 'Shadow of the Raven' and 'Deus ex Machina'.]





	What's Present is Past

The clamorous screams of the Warrior of Light and her companions yet rung in her ears, the memory echoing into the emptiness of the grey, starless Ala Mhigan sky. She could not pinpoint just why or where—so much had happened in her little time as Elder Seedseer— but Kan-E knew she had heard screams like them before, somewhere in the not so distant past.

And though the harrowing memories remained, Ala Mhigo fell silent, its innocent people sleeping, sinking into sweet dreams. She dearly wished she could do the same. But even after the Warrior of Light and her companions left, she chose to remain on that palace balcony, her Entwined Serpent guard silent and by her side all the while.

She cannot say she ever resented the Garlean. She respects him, certainly, for going the extra malm, asking to follow her on these sorts of diplomacy missions. But in the back of her mind, something about him discouraged her. He was loyal to a fault after she had saved his life on the burning fields of Carteneau, and probably would be even if he hadn’t been obviously infatuated with her.

It was three bells past midnight, yet he neither spoke nor budged. Rather, he admired Kan-E with bright, unknowing eyes as she gazed out into the dimly lit city-state. She sensed he had something he wanted to say to her every quarter bell or so based on the fidgeting he did, but never did speak a word of it. She couldn’t tell if she grew physically tired, or simply tired of his slightly overbearing presence, and considered it best to finally break the silence for the both of them.

“You need not remain here if you grow weary, friend,” Kan-E turned to him and said, “I shall be fine on my own.”

She thought she could hear familiar footsteps in the background, before he spoke.

“A-are you quite sure, my lady?” her guard blinked, nearly jumping at her simple words, “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something were to happen to—”

“Did you not hear the woman?” another voice suddenly interrupted from the doorway, “What good will you be to her if you are as fatigued as she is on the morrow?”

Her eyes wandered to the Admiral, standing tall in the dimly lit doorway. The impeccability of her timing baffled the Elder Seedseer—this had not been the first occasion her ally and friend had found her sulking about at night, after these Alliance meetings.

“Admiral,” Kan-E grew almost as wide-eyed as her now flabbergasted guard had been, “You grace us with your presence this evening.”

“With all due respect, Admiral,” the guard spoke up in a rush of bravado, “I…I follow only the Elder Seedseer’s orders.”

Merlwyb raised an eyebrow, intrigued, “And order you she did, if you’ll recall a mere tick ago… The Elder Seedseer excels at, how would you Gridanians put it—beating around the bush?”

The poor guard shivered at the Roegadyn’s sharp reply, regretting intensely the last two ticks of his life. His eyes shot back to his mistress in desperation, but hers could only reply with calm agreement for the Admiral’s words. He could read them clear as day, she knew, as his countenance sunk in mere seconds.

“Yes, yes, of course…” sighed the unfortunate guard, “…h-have a pleasant evening, my lady.”

He gave Kan-E the most rushed Serpent salute she had ever witnessed, dashing into the doorway and past the Admiral like a frightened marmot. After he shut the door behind him, the Admiral attempted (and failed) to hold back a chortle or three.

“That was not very kind, Admiral,” she sighed, exasperated yet oddly entertained. Her exhaustion may have been to blame for the laugh she wanted to share with her companion.

“Have I ever been known as a ‘kind’ person, Kan-E?” the Admiral paced over to her, crossing her arms, “I believe the more forgiving ones in this Alliance are you and Her Grace—don’t tell me you’ve mistaken me for the latter.”

“Drowsy though I may be, I doubt I could ever mistake the two of you…” Kan-E smirked.

“And thank the Twelve for that,” Merlwyb laughed in kind, “I don’t believe I’d be a good fit on Raubahn’s only shoulder.”

“I could scarcely imagine…” Kan-E shook her head jokingly, yet the image formed in her mind all the same.

The Admiral always did know how to make her smile, somehow.

Compared to the stifling presence of her stout little guard, Merlwyb’s had grown to be a comfort over the years. At first she thought it a subconscious sort of thing, sitting next to the Admiral at Alliance meetings whenever she could afford to…but as their friendship had grown and deepened, it had become…slightly more complicated. She did not like to reason with herself about it, but would admit to herself, at least, that she found a confidant in the Admiral, brusque though she may be at times.

Would that Merlwyb could have been her guard instead. She is exhausted, and just for tonight, she allows herself to entertain the thought.

“Speaking of the General,” she begins again, “I happened to cross paths with him in the palace this evening. He tells me you have remained here since the Scions left.”

“I have, yes.”

“This business with Master Thancred troubles you, then.”

“It does not trouble you?” Kan-E frowned.

Merlwyb stopped for a moment, choosing her next words carefully, “Terrifies me, in fact. I’ve not seen anything of its like in forty and two summers, nor did I plan to.”

“…I was powerless against his calling.”

“I have read your reports in detail…That Master Thancred could be so easily whisked away by this ‘calling’ is a testament to its power. The man is a force to be reckoned with, and he would never yield so quickly, had he the choice.”

“Well do I know it,” Kan-E’s expression darkened.

“But—if I am not mistaken—it seems you knew the nature of this ‘call’ well before any of us.”

“…In a different nature,” she nodded, “But I was aware of it, yes.”

“Have you…experienced it before, then?” the Admiral hesitated to finish her question, but held fast to it, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Not personally, and I am grateful for that,” Kan-E explained, “There are records, however…old records, passed down from the descendants of white magic, that tell of a similar phenomenon. And…”

“And?” Merlwyb repeated—that was when Kan-E remembered when and where it was, the screaming from before. Why it haunted her.

“The Twelveswood…before the Calamity,” she spoke again in a whisper, almost as if to remind herself of that memory, “Before the Eorzean Alliance.”

The images came back to her in a rush, full of things she wished she could have suppressed. The normally stone-faced Captain Swethyna of the Wood Wailers in tears before her as she made the report, the Elementals’ shrill screams, the chaos of fire and steel…the sleepless nights, the raw fury of the Great Ones...

…The determination writ on the Warrior of Light’s face, after witnessing what would be the beginning of Garlean-wrought disaster.

All for her. Yet all at their expense.

“Kan-E?” Merlwyb placed a hand on Kan-E’s shoulder—she did not realize it had been trembling until her companion shook her out of her memories, yet she was grateful for the small warmth.

“I realize now that what I bore witness to was not calling,” the Elder Seedseer tried to convince herself aloud, “Yet at the time, men and women, Garlean and Gridanian alike, were ripped from this plane of existence entirely, their bodies and souls spirited away in anger by the Elementals…”

“Gods be good,” Merlwyb’s voice grew cold, “Little wonder your people fear them.”

“The Twelveswood was beset by a Garlean raid, and their machina set fire to whatever they could…it roused the Elementals’ ire, and though I managed to quell their cries, I acknowledged it as my first failure as Elder Seedseer. In wanting to build the Irmin Hedge to protect my people, I created more damage than I sought to prevent…”

The Admiral remained silent, but looked on her ally with confidence, as if to tell her she could speak freely.

“My anguish would only strike fear in my people, I realized, and so I chose to leave it behind, resolving then and there to reform the Alliance. I began further research into the Elementals’ doings, hoping that one day, perhaps, they would understand my will to fight back against the Empire…It was during that time that I found records of the callings, not unlike the ones we were witness to today.”

“I see… And the Elementals? What of them?”

“I…had little time to fight for my cause before the Calamity sent them into hiding,” Kan-E admitted, “I left the burden unto my younger sister, though even she could not convince all of the Great Ones without my presence. I tell you this in confidence, Admiral, but what I do now—what I have done since Carteneau—I have done, in part, without their blessing. If ever those Great Ones awaken from their slumber, they are like to…”

Kan-E trailed off, but even on the dimly lit balcony Merlwyb could tell the Elder Seedseer’s face had lost all color.

“…They are like to do the very same to you what they did to your people and those Garleans,” Merlwyb concluded, “And gifted though your siblings may be, your Great Ones may not be willing to part with your soul after such transgressions.”

“I cannot be certain,” Kan-E bit her lip, “But it was a risk I was willing to take to keep Gridania out of harm’s way. I suppose today’s events reminded me of that, in a way.”

“I did not realize such a tragedy had been your impetus for forming the Alliance,” shrugged Merlwyb, “Though it quite resembles my tale of why I wished to join it…even if I did believe you lacked the spine to lead at the time.”

“Well do I remember your words,” Kan-E warmly replied, eager to get back at her ally for the old taunt, “I do hope I have grown one over time.”

“Doubtless we would not be speaking here like this if you hadn’t,” Merlwyb rolled her eyes in jest, “Nor would I be willing to listen to your troubles as a friend.”

“I am grateful for that…Though our hardships may be countless, it is a blessing to be able to count you among my allies, Admiral.”

“These Alliance meetings having been few and far between, I quite missed these little midnight chats of ours,” Merlwyb smirked, “The letters and linkpearls do not do you justice.”

“As did I,” Kan-E looked up at her companion, though something prevented her from looking the other woman square in the eyes, “Might we…make a tradition of this?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“And what is this of letters and linkpearls?” the Elder Seedseer asked innocently, “I quite liked them.”

“I never said I didn’t,” Merlwyb replied, suddenly coy, “…I simply prefer your presence, is all.”

Warmth rushed to Kan-E’s face as the words passed the Admiral’s lips, and it seemed to do wonders to shine a light upon the ghosts of the past that haunted her, to scare them away and replace them with some kind of joy.

“Full glad am I to hear it,” Kan-E clapped her hands together, “I thought perhaps it might have just been my imagination…”

Something in her thought she saw the Admiral’s face brighten up, if only slightly.

“Then I suppose we’ve settled that,” Merlwyb nodded confidently, “…And Kan-E.”

“Yes, Admiral?”

“Suppose those Elementals ever awaken from their slumber,” the Admiral paused before she spoke up again, yet Kan-E waited tensely for her to go on.

“If they do…They will rue the day they chose to make an enemy of you and I. I—nay, the entire Alliance—would be mad to let you weather that storm alone. You have my word.”

The Padjal weakly nodded—the sudden commitment from the Admiral, of all people, had stolen the words away from her. She instead took the Admiral’s hand, close as it was, and held it tightly for a moment, as if to thank her.

For so long, she had thought herself doomed should the worst come to pass, but now…now there was Merlwyb. And Raubahn, and Her Grace, and perhaps even Lyse and Lord Hien, if they so chose. Where once she saw fear, the Admiral had exchanged it for a kind of hope. If she had not longed for sleep, if she had the energy to do so…she might have shed a tear of joy or two. But now was not the time, she knew. Merlwyb herself had been taken aback for a moment by the small gesture alone.

“That aside,” the Roegadyn looked away, embarrassed, perhaps? “Should you not be returning to your chambers? Our airships depart first thing in the morning, though if we stay here, gods know we’re like to be here until sunrise.”

“I fear I would prefer the latter,” she smiled at her ally knowingly, “If you will have me.”

“I expected as much,” Merlwyb sighed, but she, too, took some joy in those words.

“Then we have plenty of time,” Kan-E nodded towards the dim omens of sunrise in the east, “In that case, Admiral…might I ask you to tell your tale before the Calamity?”

“It would be my pleasure,” the Admiral gazed into the infant dawn, “It seems only right to, having heard yours.”

Merlwyb took a breath, and began to recall her tale with great fervor:

“There we stood, face to face with a Garlean magitek monstrosity on the old beaches of Aleport…”


End file.
